Assault: First Magazine
by Roy Rainyday
Summary: The All Operations Agency was set up by the American government to do all of its dirty work from the shadows. Vincent Terry, one of the agency's best agent, found himself meeting a unique girl during a mission that will eventually change his life. Their lives. Vincent will meet new people, gun girls and targets to kill. Remember agents, dress well, work well. Rating may change.
1. FN Herstal

"Zero hostiles left… I'm done here."

A long, tired sigh escaped his lips. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep ever since yesterday morning which's making him cranky and irritated. He's sweaty, bloody – not his blood, aching all around and hurt due to a stray bullet hitting him on his left shoulder. Walking with his hands on his hips, he walked towards the direction of the crack-filled mirror that's in its current state due to the gun fight that happened here minutes previously.

It's a beautiful night here in Sicily, Palermo… though it would have been more beautiful in the morning with the radiant Sicilian sun shining in the sky. But, the same can't be said about the condition of the room.

Originally, it's a fully furnished and decorated living room in a vacation villa along the beach lines somewhere in Palermo, a pretty expensive and luxurious vacation house that only those with a very high standing in public could afford. But now, it's like a crime scene with bullet holes filled walls, cracked windows, blood sprays, pools of blood, corpses and bullet casings littered almost everywhere on the ground. The fancy and exquisitely decorated sofas are shot to destruction, with its filling and expensive leather cushion torn due to the bullets entering them. Heavy decorations such as vases, ceramic pedestals and carvings of arts were worthless as they're nothing more than dust and pieces of trash that needed to be cleaned up. They did quite a number on this room, especially the corpses who used to be alive.

"Yeah, can you get some guys over here? I need cleaners here pronto." He snapped irately to the radio communications device on his ear that both acts as an earpiece and a microphone. Again, another long sigh escaped his mouth. "Out of all the days they could've called me why now…?"

It's supposed to be his vacation, see? He'd been working for four months straight with no break, not even in the weekends! And every single time, it's the same shtick. The higher ups want him to kill this one guy, this one guy turned out to be some powerful crime lord with lots'a guards guarding his ass, he had to kill the guy in his own home or some other places away from public, kill some henchmen, kill the guy, report back to the higher ups, get paid and return back home only to do the exact same shit the next day, over and over again. Man… well, at least he's in Sicily, it's pretty much a 'paid' vacation already.

He leaned his back behind the cracked window, careful not to let his full weight rest on the window as it might just give in due to the shitty state it's in right now. Carefully and slowly, he slips back the silenced and polished M1911 into the leather holster strapped around his chest area, so the position of the gun is somewhere on his right side area, just above the ribs.

"Tch… a shitty gun for a shitty job… how fitting, not to mention that I'm shitty myself… hehehe…" his amusement was cut short. Multiple footsteps sound approached the room and five men dressed in sharp black suits entered the room with automatic submachine gun weapons in their arms. "Took your sweet time entering…" he rolled his eyes openly. "Take care of the scene quick, I want this place spotless in the next twenty minutes."

One of the suited man, the one in the very front, nodded. "Yes sir."

He walked past them, waving a hand. "Yeah, yeah… just do your job because I've done mine." He walked outside of the living room and outside the vacation house to the veranda. On a wooden square table near the door is a hard-cased cello case, made from synthetic plastic material to absorb shock damage from falling or other possible causes, it's wrapped in a dark black leather with two handles on each sides as well as one on the top as well as the bottom. The case also had metallic letters that spelled out 'AMATI' in in caps, and the metals used for this are bronze.

To the normal person, the case looked like a fancy and expensive cello casing. But in actuality, it's not, nor was it meant to carry a cello in the first place. Well, he could still fit one inside, but that's not the point. With a soft, yet audible click, he had opened the case. He lifted the lid of the case up.

Inside is not a cello, but it was in instrument in its own way. He never fancied using automatic battle rifles, but he won't deny their usefulness when in battle. He preferred smaller and shorter guns that were easier for conceal-carrying, since it will make his job a whole lot easier. A normal cello case like this would be able to fit more than one but no more than five rifle weapons, like an AK, M4, or any other firearms of the same length or size. But instead of those, he had a FN-P90, another spare M1911 with silencer, a Desert Tactical SRS with its scope detached from the rail, a lot of magazines for each guns he owned and a bayonet knife sheathed in a roughed out leather sheath. The content will make a normal person question why the hell would he carry so many guns with him, but it's not like they can see what's inside. The hard case is specially made for him. It won't get detected by metal detectors and even x-ray scans, it made plane trips much easier. And besides, he played a cello, so it's not like it's completely weird for him to be carrying around a cello case when travelling.

He took out a handgun magazine from inside the case before proceeding to replace the spent magazine inside the M1911 he had in his chest holster. After resupplying, he closed the 'cello' case shut, snapping the clips back securely. He hefted the heavy and equally large case on his back, doing so with no difficulty at all.

With his other hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit, pulling out a smartphone. He pressed the quick dial, bringing the phone close to his ear.

"Hey, I'm done here in Sicily. Prepare a plane back to the states for me…" but… "What the hell do you mean I'm not done yet?" his voice got louder. "Look, I did my job. I'm done here, clear me from my mission."

His eyes narrowed in anger, a visible scowl formed on his face.

"Paris… assassination… can you repeat that again? You expect me to do another job when I haven't even got paid for the first one? Who the hell are you, my boss?" he went quiet. "…technically, yeah, you are, but that's no reason to-urgh… uuuurgh… uuuuuuuuuurgh…."

His scowl disappeared, replaced by a whiney expression. "No… that's too cruel J, that's too cruel… can't I at least do the job the next day or two? I'm tired and beat, I haven't even showered! Just let me check in at a hotel, shower, sleep and then we can talk, okay? Okay… fine, tomorrow." The disappointment never left his tone. "I'll call you later J, bye."

He sighed for the third time that night. "Fuckin' a… no rest for the wicked indeed." He muttered quietly, while walking down the stairs of the vacation home he'd cleared out. The agents inside had set up blockades to prevent civilians from entering the area, and a team of other agents were around patrolling the area to finish things up. He walked up to a parked convertible next to a sidewalk. The sleek crimson hot rod is his for the driving. It's one hell of a car, being just recently released. It's not his car though, it's the Agency's, but no one said that he can't pretend that it's his.

Opening the driver's seat, he then places the large cello case on the front passenger seat. He did the seatbelts both for him and his case, road safety was important after all. He readjusted the slightly out of position rear view mirror above the dashboard, he got to look at his own face.

Terry, Vincent, was someone who women would call a hot jerk and men would call him a plain jerk. He, for the record, was not a jerk 24/7. He's just a jerk when he's irritated, but since he's almost irritated all the time, that previous statement was invalid. His tall stature, charming looks and slippery mouth earned him the reputation for being the Agency's most iconic agent. He took that as a praise, rather than a warning from the Agency for his – sometimes – unprofessional behavior. Vincent had always appreciated stylish trends, explaining why his hair was so damn slick as if he'd put grease on it every damn minute he had a free time, which was true. He was dressed in a set of the agency's work uniform and by uniform he meant a very sharp three piece suit which consisted of a black inner collared shirt, a middle buttoned maroon vest, an outer black blazer, a pair of matching back slacks made from the same material as the blazer, a pair of polished black oxfords and a pair of three fingered gloves on each hand that left out the ring finger and pinky uncovered. The neatly done crimson tie that kept the collar of his shirt from being undone was slightly shriveled; he saw this and was quick to fix it. After a few seconds of readjusting, it's neat again.

Turning on the engine by twisting the keys of the car, he let the engine heat up for a few seconds before stepping on the gas.

"…Forget taking shower, I'm sleepin' as soon as I find a bed."

* * *

The All Operations Agency was a unique organization even by some of the world's most knowledge people's standards. It's a government agency, which government that's classified, funded and paid for through the tax money that normal civilians pay. It's not suspicious, right? Wrong. The Agency, for the sake of convenience, was set up to prevent wars from breaking out within a country. What kind of wars? Civil wars. The Agency mainly dealt with groups of people or other organization that plans on rebelling their country's federal party, but since jobs that involved kidnapping, interrogation, assassination and other shady government actions were frowned upon by everyone, the government will need to keep things on the down low. However, the Agency is still country – let's say – A's secret government agency, it could not operate on foreign countries without that country's permission or request.

Which brings us to the way how the Agency operates.

The Agency is a secret government agency, true, but it is unincorporated with the government at the same time. Meaning that it's an entirely different group of its own, only related to the government in name – not like everyone knows about it – and nothing else. What the Agency does in their jobs was secret. Authorization to look at the records relating the Agency was high and only few individuals were allowed to even glance at them. It employed Agents as their main operatives, from here and on, it's your typical secret organization group bullshit. When the Agency's not dealing country A's problem, it offered its services to other countries who maybe experiencing the problems of rebellion or the uprising of a civil war.

Agents were deployed on multiple missions. Assassinations, sabotage, infiltration, spying and even assault were few of the missions that Agents were deployed to. Less risky ones included becoming personal bodyguards for VIPs, undercover operations in other organizations and many more. The kind of thing that the Agents do may be similar to what several special forces group were familiar with, but the Agency is strictly for dirty work and to make government involvement as unexpected as possible. Agents were trained, taught and built to do what they were supposed to do. It's not rare for several ex-special forces members to be an Agent, but the Agency accepted new recruits with different backgrounds.

Currently, the Agency is in a state of wariness due to a very important event that happened in the past… what's that event? Well…

"Finally a bed!"

Vincent launched himself to the comfortable king sized bed's springy mattress. He allowed his face to sink into the pillow, all the while feeling the pain he'd been dealing with over the past few hours being lifted up from him as if it's the rapture. He'd undone his suit, explaining why he's only in his shirt and slacks. On a nearby desk were his gloves, his cello case was leaning next to the wardrobe where he placed his blazer and vest in.

He took a quick soak earlier, just to get rid of the blood, sweat and fatigue from his person and mind. He felt great now, better than great. One of the perks of being an Agent was that you're not like a typical spec-ops soldier, you get to experience these kinds of privileges and not to mention the high pay. They should've named him and the rest as Hitmen instead of Agents, since inflicting pain and causing deaths had always been the kind of job they're doing. Vincent sighed, in bliss this time, as he relaxed into the bed's soft mattress.

"This will compensate for not having a vacation over the past few months…" he sleepily muttered to himself. Just as he was about to sleep, his phone beeped. Vincent groaned, he reluctantly sat himself up from the bed in order to retrieve it. "What now…?"

It's a mail, he received a mail.

 **To: Agent 0564**

 **From: J**

 **Subject: Heads up lazy ass**

 **The board wanted something done about the France job, fast. I know you're tired, but you're not the only one. They want you to kill another guy called Pierre de Valls. He's an important person in the French government, but they wanted him out of the job because he's a major fuck up. More information about the mission will be given by our branch there in Palermo, just don't be yourself when you meet the folks there. Just leave for France, Paris as soon as you're done in Palermo.**

 **P.S: You owe me a couple hundred bucks, you ass.**

 **MESSAGE END**

With sleepy eyes, he skimmed over the message once again, before shrugging. "Oh well, today's not yet tomorrow." He went back to sleep.

Without, shutting off his phone.

 **Tomorrow…**

"Fuck! I'm so going to get yelled at for this…" he groaned loudly in the middle of driving.

It's already morning and he's supposed to be in the Agency's branch here in Palermo ten minutes ago. He blamed himself. Last night, he forgot to charge his phone so he wasn't able to wake up early due to the alarm function dead to him. Right now, the damn thing's charging from the USB port of his car, thank god for technology…

He's almost at the building, just a few blocks away. The thing about secret government agencies, they always put their buildings under the cover of another government organization that's okay for the public. Here in Palermo, the Agency branch here took the guise of a Welfare agency that deals with the social welfare of the Italian citizens. That's still true, meaning that the branch here deals with shit from both the Agency AND the Italian government. That gave a clue of how close the Italians were to the Agency, explaining why there's a branch here in the first place. The Agency, despite being a secret organization, was well known throughout several governments. It had branches all across the globe, but not so much. Just like this one, they also had their own guises to keep up to avoid public suspicion.

After flashing the security guard his credentials, he was allowed entry to the parking lot. He parked the convertible on an empty space near the entrance, for the sake of convenience. Opening the door, he then hefted his cello case on his back with ease before proceeding his way into the building. Once inside, he approached the receptionist.

"Agent 0546." He muttered to the female receptionist who clearly heard his message as she immediately picked up a nearby telephone, pressing the quick dial.

Vincent waited as the receptionist talked to whoever's on the other side of the line. He couldn't hear anything, so he couldn't help but doze off, staring at nothing in particular. After a while, the receptionist grabbed his attention by shoving a brown paper file on his face.

"Everything is in here." She said in a somewhat freaky monotonous voice. "Dress well, work well."

"Compliment received." Vincent muttered dryly as he flicked the receptionist a loose salute before walking back outside with the file carried on his free hand. He walked back to his car, turned on the engine and drove back to the road towards the direction of the airport. Throughout the journey, he kept thinking.

Just what is with the mission these days, anyway? It's all about killing, maiming, getting rid of someone and sending some guys back to the J-man in heaven. It's been a while ever since he'd gotten a bodyguard job. He is complaining, shit, he'll file one when he's done in Paris! Not that he mind killing people, it's just that he's been doing the same thing for about four months now, so he's bound to get bored from it. But, as long as the pay was good, he won't complain anytime soon. It's just… weird. He knew that the higher ups can be brutal, but straight up bloodthirsty? Never knew that. Is it just him, or the people today have been so active in trying to do shit that they're not supposed to do? If he'd been getting assassination contracts over the past few months, that could imply how active a group in overthrowing their government. He's not predicting shit here, but this's just like an opening to war.

Hey, if a war did happen, Vincent won't complain much.

If a war broke out, let's say a civil war in country A – the Agency's home country – then all Agents would be deployed to eliminate all rebel leaders quickly before it escalated to a degree of clusterfuck. There's no need for revolution, today's generation was past that. It's no longer the olden days where people were dreaming about revolting against political leaders because they didn't like the way they do stuff. The people do what they have to do, and the government will do theirs. As long as they don't fight each other, then things were good. Isn't that how today's society was supposed to be? Regardless of the nation's style of government, be it republican, democrats, or even communism, but as long as everyone was okay, then isn't it fine? Vincent's not a kid, even he knew that there will always be people who'll disagree, arguing that their way is the best kind of solution to deal with problems. But see that same guy four or five years down the road, see what he's become. If he turned out to be capable of fulfilling his promises, then good for him. If he couldn't, then pity those who had placed their trust on him.

People, especially today's politician, have become huge disappointment, not only to others, but also to themselves. They thought that they could do great things and become the next George Washington or Napoleon Bonaparte, but they found themselves being labeled as society's biggest failure. As horrible as Vincent considered himself, he didn't want that kind of thing happening to him or others. He's not so keen on admitting it, but he's afraid of giving a false sense of hope for the people around him. And when a guy turned out to be just that kind of person he's afraid of making himself look like, he couldn't do anything but feel sorry for the fella.

Vincent was raised in a good household, some might even consider him a spoiled kid from a rich family. His father was a business with a decent political standing and status, his mother was a professor somewhere in America's top university. Ten years down the road, his father got into a scandal and it broke their relationship of a happy family. His mother resulted drugs, his father became the literal trash of society and their family was nothing after a day that news broke out. He felt very disappointed in his dad, but he could never bring himself to hate him because, even if he was young at that time, he knew that he couldn't judge him for what he did. Mom… his mom was beyond saving. Troubled and having the pressure of living in that kind of broken home getting to him, he ran away from home. Using the money he gathered up from his allowances, he fled to the countryside where he knew his parents would have no chance of finding him, especially not without the influence they used to have. Vincent remembered working on farms, cleaning literal dumps, and sleeping in barns in order to stay alive. Hey, at least he got paid. Years later, he ended up working for the Agency, becoming one of their best agents too. If that's not an accomplishment, then he didn't know what else. But sadly, that's not the type of accomplishment he's willing or going to share to people… for a variety of reasons.

The thing is, he pity those people who have been labeled failures by the public for something they did not manage to do. Hey, at least they did something, they tried their hardest to achieve it. Failure doesn't mean that you gain nothing, failure's actually a result of its own. But he loathed those people who never tried their best in doing the things they're supposed to do. He may be a lazy ass, but he work hard every now and then. He believed that people, people who haven't been in the shoes of the people they're judging, should not have the right to judge. He, too, had no right to judge most of the people he killed. Most of the people he killed were crime lords, corrupted politicians, or plain scheming people that the government's declared too dangerous to be let alive. He never became a crime lord, a corrupted fed or some scheming left winger, so he had no right to judge them for what they did.

But hey, he never say he had no rights to kill them.

Stepping on to the gas, he increased the speed of the car as he entered the highway.

* * *

Several hours later, he arrived on the airport.

"Passport please." The female airport clerk offered him a business smile when he gave her his passport. She opened his passport and proceeded to ink the empty page with a stamp. She returned the passport back to Vincent, still with the smile present on her face. "Thank you, next please…"

Vincent tuned out the rest of the background noises as he walked towards the waiting area to wait for his plane. Supposedly, his plane should've been here three minutes ago, but there's a delay due to maintenance purposes. Vincent, dressed in his suit while carrying a large cello case, made him look like an important individual who's in an airport for a job rather than a trip or just a plain suspicious person. Both assumptions were not wrong, but misinterpreted. He's indeed here for a job and yes, with the actual content of his cello case being guns and other weapons including ammunition, he was pretty much a suspicious individual. But so long as he didn't make himself look suspicious, then it's okay.

He sat on an empty bench inside the waiting area, opening his phone. Now that the damn thing's charged, he can finally see how many notifications he had.

"Whoa, 152 in just one day? That's a new record… no wonder she can't get a boyfriend…" Vincent, hesitantly, unlocked his phone. He browsed through the message and he figured out that they were all containing the same thing. He opened the most recent one.

 **To: Vincent**

 **From: J**

 **Geez, why won't you answer me you dimwit? I tried calling you but you didn't pick up… never mind, just be sure to see the new e-mail I gave you. It contains the intel you'll need about the job you're about to do. Don't call me, I'll be busy.**

 **-J**

' _Sure not busy typing out these texts…'_ he shrugged it off before doing as the message had instructed. He opened his email and yes, there was indeed one new email in his inbox. He tapped it in order to view.

 **To: Agent 0564**

 **From: J**

 **Subject: Intel**

 **Heads up dum-dum, here's a picture of the guy's mansion. Hear that? Mansion. That means you have to get up from your seat, sneak into the damn place and kill the guy yourself. Even better, the French branch can't help you on this one. Meaning that the mission will take place with civilians lingering around the area, hey, it may be private property but there will be people around and no one's stopping the po-po from stealing the stage so you'll have to do things quietly.**

Vincent viewed a colored image taken from a satellite that's in a JPG format. He downloaded it to his phone, just in case he needed it again later.

 **Again, please don't fuck this up. The higher ups want the guy dead for some ever reason and I can't figure out why.**

 **MESSAGE END**

That last statement made Vincent think a little. J, his superior, was one of the most influential people in the Agency. She can easily get any kind of information she wanted, whether or not it's related to work. So to know that even J was clueless about the mission made him a little bit uneasy, for some reason.

"Passengers boarding flight BLZ-420 the plane has arrived please show your tickets and board the plane immediately."

Vincent lifted his cello case again, bringing it with him to the plane. He went through the airport's security check, meaning that he'll have his body patted by other men's hands, ew. Once it's done, all that's left is to wait for his cello case to be x-rayed by the machine. He's not worried even a bit, because he knew that they won't be able to see what's inside of his cello case. After retrieving his case back again, he, with the same brown paper file in his free hand, boards the plane.

Thankfully, there're still business class seats available in the last day. Opening the storage space above the seat, he stored his cello case inside and thankfully, it fits. He sat back down on his seat next to the window, with the one next to him being unoccupied. Fastening the seat belts, he leaned back and proceeded to close his eyes for several hours of a trip to the airport in Paris.

The plane waited for several more minutes to let passengers who weren't here yet enter. While waiting, Vincent thought that it's a good time to review his mission details, since hadn't really look at it. Opening the brown paper file carefully as to not damage the important document inside, Vincent then slowly pulls the paper out. He took a look at it.

 **Mission Code: FR-34-244-226**

 **Location: France, Paris**

 **Duration: One day**

 **Agent is to** _ **assassinate Pierre de Valls**_ **in his own estate. Mission is** _ **critical**_ **, so** _ **stealth approach**_ **is recommended. Should our presence be discovered,** _ **execute all hostiles**_ **.**

 **IMPORTANT**

 **Mission will have a VIP that the Agent will need to extract. VIP is mission critical. The safety of the VIP overrules the mission conditions above.** _ **BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY**_ **.**

 **Dress well, work well.**

Vincent eyes nearly went as wide as saucers when he read the last part of the note. A VIP? Wasn't this supposed to be another assassination mission? If the mission objective changed, then why didn't J told him about it? What're the higher ups trying to do here? That last 'BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY' part might as well be written in red bold letters. There were four types of execute command that will be given to an agent. The first one was either 'within mission parameters' or 'only on area'. They both mean the same thing, basically, should the target leave the mission area, agents would have to give chase and let him flee. Or, an agent will have to eliminate his target within the mission area only. The second one was 'with bare hands' and it's exactly as it sounded. It means that an agent should not use lethal force in dealing with their targets, usually, this command is reserved for capture and extract missions only. The third one was 'by any means necessary' and it meant that as long as the mission or condition is achieved, then an agent was allowed to do the mission in the way he or she thought was best, even using lethal force. And the final one was 'within your judgement'. The last was, basically, the Agency's way of saying 'deal with the trashes in the way you deem fit' or something like that. It meant that he can do whatever the hell he wanted without the mission conditions holding him back, but it's preferred if agents were to follow their mission conditions since it'll make the higher ups happier.

So in the context above, it probably meant like this: the Agency wanted him to kill this Pierre guy and everyone inside his mansion, but finding and securing this VIP is more important than that. The VIP's safety came first, so as long as he's doing that, he's allowed to break a few mission conditions and that's including stealth. Now that he knew what his mission would probably be like, he decided his option.

Option A was to sneak into the mansion all snaky like without getting spotted or killing without getting seen. This was, however, easier said than done because the only intel he got about the place was just a freaking satellite picture of the mansion. He's to find this Pierre bitch, murder his ass but not before questioning him about his VIP. Maybe then, he'll castrate him, find the VIP, make his way out before whatever remained of the people there are alarmed about his presence and then GTFO from the scene faster than you can say 'mission accomplished'.

Option B still needed a little bit of stealth, but it's more brutal. He'll sneak into the building fully armed with automatic weapons, find Pierre, question him about the VIP that he'll need to retrieve and raise the alarm purposely so that he could eliminate all hostiles but not before putting the VIP in a safe place, like a closet or something. It's risky, yeah, but it'll fulfill the 'execute all hostiles' mission condition while keeping the VIP safe and secure at the same time.

Option C was the riskiest one. It'll involve him, an armored vehicle and a whole lotta' shooting. Basically, he'll charge through the front door with an armored vehicle that he might be able to retrieve from a nearby bank, you know the ones they used to transport money, but not before creating another diversion. He's thinking about planting C-4s, he got several of them with him, around the compound and discharge them one at time to create the illusion of a full on assault was being carried to the mansion. It's risky because it will no doubt alarm the guards, put bystanders at risk of being caught up and the police will be involved. But the enemy will be confused and divided, he can waltz in no problem while the guards were all over the place trying to find him. Since the police will be involved, the people there might just get into a shootout with the cops because they're all armed and all. While that happens, he will hunt down Pierre, who will definitely be trying to haul his ass out of the scene and kill him before that happened. After the heat receded, he can find his VIP and get out of the scene, leaving behind a lot of mess for the cops to clean.

…yeah, he'll go with the second option, option B. Didn't know why he even thought of that third one, probably irritation or something.

So option B seemed like the best solution here.

"All passengers please fasten your seatbelts, we are about to take off."

But before all of that happens, he'll get a quick sleep.

* * *

Paris was a beautiful city, it really was.

Though it might have been overly exaggerated with all 'the city of love' bull crap, there's no denying that it's still a damn beautiful place. Sadly, he'd no time for sightseeing. He's driving a car he rented from the airport towards the mission area. The mansion's located somewhere in a secluded district in the capital and was a private owned estate. There will be people around, so he will need to find entry quick. He analyzed the picture he received from HQ earlier, and there's a construction project going on right beside the mansion area. He can find a way to the mansion through that construction site, though sneaking there would be an entirely different thing on its own, especially if he's carrying around a large cello case.

Parking the car right on the edge of the road, Vincent analyzed the construction site.

"Seems like they're building some kind of office building or something… but why the hell would anyone build one near a mansion?" he questioned. "Why the hell is there even a mansion in the middle of Paris anyway?" He eventually dropped the questions as he began to proceed with his mission.

He should be able to make his way into the site with no trouble, since workers there tend to be sleepy in the evening. Hopping off from the car, he carried his cello case with him with the straps fasten around his body so that he can use both of his hands while carrying it. He walked into the site, and noticed that the security guard's sleeping. Looks like they're on break. Due to the way he's dressed, the workers suspected him of being someone from the managing department of their project, so they didn't raise any question when spotting him. Vincent saw an elevator access and decided that he'll use it to gain entrance to the mansion next door.

On the way up, he's able to get a clearer view of the mansion's courtyard and he's already not liking what he's seeing.

"The hell?" Vincent wondered out loud. "Why are there so many guards with guns in a normal day like this?" he quickly exited the elevator once it reached his desired section of the WIP building. Since the workers were on break, there's no one working yet. He opened his case to retrieve the SRS Desert Tactical sniper rifle, and once he had it, he used the scope to get a clearer view of what's happening.

A black SUV drove right in front of the mansion, and several of the armed guards inside the courtyard went to open the gates. He saw several more suited men getting out from the SUV and they proceeded to open the passenger side of the door. Vincent blinked in order to convince himself that he's actually not seeing things.

"A girl?" just as he had whispered, two of the men roughly pulled out a young girl from the car. The girl tried to resist, but the men were just too strong for her. They managed to get her out, roughly, and a third guard brought the muzzle of his MP-5 on the back of the girl's head, forcing her to walk into the mansion.

Vincent let his eyes off from the scope, a large frown evident on his face. "That can't be… that can't be my VIP, can it?" Vincent's not about to find out. He placed the SRS sniper rifle back inside the cello case and he began to look around the mansion walls for entry. From here, the drop down to the other property seemed crazy, but thanks to the power of science, he won't have to worry about breaking his bones.

Vincent walked back a few steps, before running and then jumping straight to the mansion across. The distance was not that far, and he managed to land on the lower roof of the mansion that probably belonged to a section of the main building. Huffing, the agent rubbed the sleeves of his blazer seeing as it was rather dusty from the minor stunt he just pulled. Tightening his gloves, he then sneaked his way into the mansion by breaking open one of the windows.

A normal human won't be able to do all of that without experiencing a little bit of pain, but he's not exactly normal. Hell no Agency agents were normal to begin with. Upon receiving the job as an agent, enhancement surgery was done to recruits in order to strengthen them physically. These physical enhancements include better eyesight, super strength, enhanced reflex and tougher skin. All of these were done so that an agent could do his job to the fullest. He's no different from the rest of the agent in the Agency. But he'll admit, he's not much of a mover.

Seeing that no one's patrolling this part of the hallway, Vincent walked up to a door and opened it, revealing the bedroom inside. He set his cello case on the bed, opened it up and began to prepare himself. He loaded his P-90 with a fresh magazine, before sticking several extra magazines into his coat's inner pockets. He picked up the M1911, both of them, and holstered them to his chest holster with their silencer in place; he also had two extra magazines for his handguns inside his pants' pocket. Seeing as he's more or less armed with the necessary tools to do his job, he then closed the cello case with a snap. He held the P-90 with both hands, feeling it resting comfortably in the grip of his hands.

Now fully armed and loaded, Vincent was ready to begin his job.

"Let's do this."

Vincent walked out of the room with his P-90 ready in his arms. He made his way downstairs where he's sure that the guards and his VIP were at. Sliding down the stairs, he stuck himself behind a wall to avoid detection. He took a small peek of the situation ahead, and he can see several men armed with automatic submachine guns walking towards his position.

"Hey, Franco, where do you think Monsieur Pierre wants with the girl?"

"I don't know, and we're not paid to ask those kinds of questions Emile. Just shut up and do your work."

"Yeah, I know… but she's a kid, don't tell me the boss's that type of guy…"

"Even if he is, what are you going to do about it?"

"Well…"

Just as they were about to cross the intersection that divided the hall into four different ways, Vincent burst fired his P-90 to kill the first guy before quickly moving on to the next guy. None of them had the chance to react because Vincent managed to kill them before they even know that he's there. The blood sprayed to the wall will leave a mark forever, if not cleaned immediately. He then professionally hid the body inside a closet to prevent detection from happening anytime soon, if he's lucky, no one's going to investigate the gunshot he did earlier because this place's so damn big.

Vincent made his way towards the direction the two guards he just killed earlier were coming from and it lead him right to the large living room area. He spied the area ahead and clicked his tongue in irritation at what he's seeing. There're seven goons in total, all of them armed. He saw two of them 'escorting' the girl away from the area, still holding her at gun point. That left the remaining five in the living room. Vincent's not going to take any chance, so he'll have to do this quick. He breathed out, before screaming out in French.

"Help! Gah! I got a nail stuck in my foot!"

The guards in the living room didn't buy it at first, due to how ridiculous that acting was. But eventually, three of them came to the secluded part of the hall where Vincent's lying in wait for them.

"Merde… are you for real?" the one leading the other two sighed in exasperation. "Hey, stop fooling around an – " but he never got to finish his words. A single .45 ACP bullet went through his skull, blowing the grey matter right out of his head as well as sending his dead body tumbling further away. The other two quickly raised their rifles to react, but they never got a chance to. Vincent grabbed one of the guard's rifle right at the barrel, yanking it from him before using it to hit him square on the face, knocking him out cold. He then acted quickly to shoot the other last guy right on the throat, making him drown and choke in his own blood. The guy's effort of struggling to remain alive combined with the futile attempt of screaming made him look silly, with the way his hand's grasping his bleeding neck like someone who's out of breath.

The remaining two guys in the living room area were wondering just what's taking those three so long to help a guy with a nail stuck in his foot. "Hey, what's going on back there?" wary, the two decided to investigate for themselves.

Big mistake.

Multiple shots were fired from a dual wielded silenced M1911 pistols firing off .45 ACP rounds that tore through the two goon's body like an eagle tearing through its meal. Vincent came walking in, still chronologically firing his pistols one at a time. When he's out, he quickly reloaded another batch of fresh magazines into the guns quickly. His P-90 was slung loosely on his back, kept in place by a simple polymer sling.

He began walking towards where they're taking the girl and if he's lucky, he might be able to meet Pierre along the way and put a bullet on his head. He never talked much during missions, only when he's irritated, but everything's been going exactly as planned. He made his way through another hallway yet again, this time he saw resistance in front. There's no point in going silent anymore. He re-holstered his pistol and then switched back to the P-90 on his back quickly before the first guard he saw could identify him. He shot one dead, and it caused an alarm. An all-out fight's sure to break out and Pierre, wherever he was, sure to panic.

Three suited guards ran up with their guns firing, but Vincent's more surprised at their stormtrooper like aim. They couldn't even graze him and they're still firing like crazy. Vincent had to reload his P-90, so he momentarily hid behind an opened door for cover while he switched to a fresh magazine. And then, he rained down more 9mm bullets fired in an accurate burst to more guards who emerged from the doors of the rooms in the hallway. One particular guy was dead before he could even rush outside to find cover, which was by the way almost nonexistent in this narrow hallway, because Vincent managed to spray him with bullets, knocking him down to floor in a bloody mess. A loud bang surprised Vincent and he cursed when he saw what happened. They managed to send in reinforcements from the hall he was in before, looks like there's a lot more people in this place than he thought. Four guards have their AK variants fired at him from a distance of no more than twenty meters. Vincent dodged the bullets, rushing into one of the opened doors. He peeked out of cover to eliminate the backups sent his way, but was torn between two sides. Despite the situation, he kept a cool composure and let his mind work. Inside the room was a window that leads outside. He broke the glass window, vault over it so that he could shimmy on the ledge. He shimmied faster, knowing that they'll eventually catch up to him.

Vincent used whatever strength his arm could produce, which was a lot, to make a brave move of reaching a very high ledge to another window that belonged to the room right next to the one he was at before. He planned to flank the enemy and thankfully, the window was not closed so that he could enter without having the break it. He could hear confusion screamed and yelled in French from the guards out in the hall. He couldn't believe that they're stupid enough to break their position and gather up back in the hallway. Oh well, he's not complaining, it'll make it easier for him to shoot them down. Switching out his current nearly empty magazine with a fresh one, Vincent emerged from his cover and began to open fire on the guards gathered on the hall. Though a small caliber, the P90's rapid fired 9mm rounds managed to find their way inside the guard's body, causing a bloody spectacle that most veterans would approve of. One of the bullets actually hit one guard right on his forehead, shattering it like expensive china, causing a messy crimson fountain to burst right at the back of the exit wound. Vincent ceased firing when he downed everyone in the hall, but noticed something.

"Merde… Merde…" a badly wounded guard tried to limp his way back into the room, multiple gunshot wounds on his chest, stomach and abdomen. He's coughing up blood and was at the verge of tears.

Vincent walked over to the limping guard's way, causing whatever hope the poor soul had in him to diminish quicker than a firework in the 4th of July. Vincent kicked the guy hard on his nose that it lifted him up to a sitting position. With his P90 on the sling, he used both hands to grip the dying guy's collar, bringing his bruised face close to his own.

"Pierre. Where."

"…Ah…" the guard struggled for a while. "H-His study… second floor…"

Good, bastard found. Next was… "Who's the girl you just brought in?"

"D-Don't know… we weren't told anything about her… ju-just that we'll be expecting her here…!" there's no point in struggling for him, because he knew that he'll die. "Please… kill me…"

Vincent said nothing other than dropping the guard back to the bloody, carpeted floor. He pulled out one of his Colt from its holster, aiming it right at the guy's head. He pulled the trigger and the powerful .45 ACP round made a mess of his brain matter, turning it to goo.

After finishing his execution, Vincent made his way to the room where he believed the girl he saw earlier was kept in. He entered the room that was probably a break room for the guards that worked here. And he saw a bound figure, her arms and legs tied by thick chain links and her mouth gagged with a piece of white cloth. The girl's first reaction upon seeing him was to shake her head and struggle in her bindings, probably suspecting that he was after her. If that's the case, then she's not wrong… probably. Vincent pulled up a chair before walking over to the girl. She began to struggle and squirm even more, her bright… pink eyes became teary as she stopped squirming thinking that it's futile.

"Calm down, I'm not here to kill or hurt you." Vincent said in English. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" thankfully, he saw her nod twice. Vincent nodded himself. "Good. Now, excuse me for this…"

If the girl had her mouth gag opened, she would've yelped or squeal when Vincent lifted her up in both arms. She struggled in reflex, but Vincent's strong grip on her prevented her from doing anything, and she's bound in the first place. He sat her down on the chair he pulled earlier, doing so carefully.

"Listen here kid, I don't know why you're here, but I do know that you're probably the one I had to rescue." Vincent spoke to her with a bored and flat tone. "Wait here, I just have one last guy to kill before we ditch this place." He turned his back, and left, not noticing that the girl was trying to get his attention.

Now back in the hallway, he made his way upstairs to meet his original target. He went through the halls and stairs quickly, seeing as there's no more resistance because he had just killed them all. But there's still no telling whether or not everyone's truly dead or Pierre had an extra bunch of henchmen somewhere waiting for him. Now that he thought about it… she should've probably brought the girl with him. Or remove her bindings. Or ask her her name. Fuck man…

"Focus Vince… Focus…" he muttered when he reached the second floor. With his P-90 ready to fire at any movement he might saw, Vincent searched the entire area for the study. Since this mansion's so big, then he should probably search for the biggest room on the damn floor.

He found the study's door and wasted no time in kicking it open.

"So… the Agency decided to send one if its dogs to me, eh?"

Pierre de Valls was your stereotypical old, bald and cynical evil mastermind that's seen on movies. He's dressed well, with a three piece suit of his own consisting of a grey collared shirt, teal vest and a maroon blazer over it. Pierre appeared to be in his middle ages, fifties or so, with a greying hair and wrinkles visible on his face. But there's no denying the sharpness of his brown eyes, they looked like those owned by a person who's seen a lot of shit in life. The old man had no guards with him, and he's casually sitting behind his desk adding more points to his evil mastermind archetype. The fact that he managed to remain calm even when Vincent had him right in the middle of his sights showed just how much he was expecting him.

"Let us calm down now, you went full Tarantino on my guards, are you not tired boy?" he said out in perfect composure.

Despite him lowering his weapon, his guard was still up. Vincent entered the room, glaring stoically at the older man. "Who's the girl?"

A look of mock surprise crossed Pierre's face, as if he's not expecting Vincent to speak much less ask him a question. "Oh what's this? An Agency dog that speaks? That's pretty rare, considering how quiet you mutt tend to be when you're doing your job…" Vincent's hardening glare did little to Pierre. "Now don't give me that look, both of us knows that your higher ups are hiding something from you."

Pierre coughed to his fist, before settling down.

"Listen here, dog, my purpose here in this world is far bigger than what you may imagine. Even so, I still exist for a much bigger purpose." The old man muttered tiredly. "That girl was never meant to be used by governments, militaries or any armed forces in the whole world." His tone turned stiffer. "They're meant for something **bigger**."

Then, he laughed.

"But there's no fun letting you know all the answers when you've only done so little, right?" he chuckled. "You killed twenty or so of my men, so be it. But none will compare to the trials, pain and regret you'll face if you kill me and hand over that girl to your superiors." Pierre sighed, crossing his arms on the desk above. "But, a dog is still a dog. Come, do whatever your master told you to do. I've at least tried so hard…"

Without hesitation, Vincent aimed and pulled the trigger, lodging a bullet right into Pierre's forehead.

Seeing as that kill's confirmed, Vincent allowed his professional façade to drop, revealing the scowl of irritation he had been hiding underneath the mask of stoic composure. "Damn old villain archetype and their cryptic way of speaking…" he sighed before dropping the P-90 to let the sling do all the work of carrying it.

He pulled out his phone from his blazer's inner pocket, he unlocked the screen and dialed a number.

"Hey, you're going to have-" But he was cut. "The girl… so you do know about the girl. What are you not telling me here J? You know I don't like being kept in the dark like this…" he paused to let the voice on the other side speak. "What do you mean you'll explain when I return back to headquarters? Can't you do that now?" but he was only lead to more disappointment. "Urgh… fine, I'll… get back asap, but prepare a plane for me here in Paris, I can't return back with a girl who probably has no passport or whatsoever. Yeah, we'll talk later."

Seeing that his job was almost done, he returned back downstairs to complete it.

Surprisingly, the girl was not gone when he had left here for a few minutes. She struggled as an attempt to grab his attention, and she succeeded in doing just that. Finally, Vincent released the gags and broke off the chains that bound her limbs. She could stand, albeit with a little help from the chair.

Vincent took a good look at her. The girl's not even tall enough to reach his shoulders, and it didn't take an idiot to know that she's definitely younger than him. Her short, silvery lavender hair was slightly shriveled up due to the rough handling from the guards he murdered earlier, and her pink eyes are no longer teary. He noticed that she's dressed in the least expected attire. Seriously, a Japanese school uniform? Anyway, her attire consisted of just that, a sailor uniform with collar in its common navy blue color, while the entirety of the blouse was dominant in the color white, her pleated skirt's colored green with a white line circling just above the hem area, and it appeared that she's wearing another shirt underneath the blouse since there's fabric sticking out from it. She also wore a pair of dark navy blue socks that reached up to her lower knee and a pair of white trainers. Oh and don't forget the huge pink ribbon keeping the collar together.

"W-What's going on…?" she shakily ask in her feminine voice, much like any other terrified girls.

"I was hoping that you could answer that for me." Vincent said with hands on his hips. "What's your name kid?"

At this, the girl began to stand straight, akin to that of a military trainee. "FN-FNC sir!"

Vincent considered himself to be quite versed in the thousands category of guns out there. He blinked several times, cleaning out his ears with his pinky, even. "FNC… you mean like the gun? Like, the real Belgium made gun?"

"W-Well, yes…" FNC uttered. "In fact, it's actually… eh… I am the gun."

Vincent was not amused, really not amused. "You're bullshitting me."

But what FNC did next surprised him. She took a step back, jumping and then transforming into a perfect, carbon copy of the FN-FNC assault rifle. Vincent instinctively caught… her before she hit the ground. "See, sir, I am the gun." Somehow, he's hearing her voice even if she's just a gun.

"What? I… I… I… I don't even…" he then yelped when FNC transformed back to her human form, still being carried by his arms.

"Eh… yeah, it may be… surprising for you…" for some reason, she's finding herself heating up especially in the face area. "Um… sir… can you please put me down?"

Vincent, too struck up with what he had just witnessed, was late in registering FNC's request. "Oh, yeah, er…. Here…" he awkwardly set her back down to the carpeted floor of the room. After a weird moment of silence, Vincent found his voice again. "So… you're like the legit gun?"

"Yes."

"And you can turn human how?"

At this, FNC gave him a confused look. "But sir… aren't you supposed to know about me? Are you not my handler?"

Vincent shook his head without hesitation. "No, look here, I don't even know that girls can transform into guns, nor did I expect meeting you in this god forsaken place. So, no, I don't know about you and I'm not your handler."

FNC's face turned sullen, her head drooping a little. "O-Oh…" she looked around, until she noticed something on Vincent's back. "Is that a gun, sir?"

Vincent realized that she's talking about the P-90 on his back. "Oh, this, yeah." He brought it out so that FNC could see it. "It's a P-90 and guess what, it's also a Belgium made weapon made by the same people who made the FN-FNC, FN Herstal."

"R-Really?" FNC seemed pretty surprised at this piece of information. "I-I see…"

Realizing that precious time was wasted by talking, Vincent finally decided to leave. "Let's get out of here, the police are going to be here any minute and we have to catch a flight."

"Where are we going?" FNC asked.

But instead of a straight answer, Vincent gave her a vague one in nothing but a whisper.

"…The place where uncle Sam lives."

* * *

 **A/N: This idea was so absurd, even more absurd that the Kantai Collection that I posted in this account. But even so, I just had to write it out and see how this will play off. As usual, please review and tell me if you want this series to be continued or PM me if you want to talk with me and discuss a few things. Suggestions and critique are welcomed so don't hold back. On second thought, please hold back, I know I did a lot of mistakes here…**

 **I don't know if you'll like this story, since - according to what I've observed - the fanbase for Upotte! in FF is not as active as the other fanbases. But despite that, I still had to share this story here.**


	2. 556 45mm

"So let me get this straight." Vincent repeated for what seemed to be the third time. "You girls were created by a mysterious organization – called the Gunsmiths – that's meant to improve certain countries' military strength but were separated because the facility you girls were in was attacked by an unknown armed group?"

FNC nodded, her short silvery lavender hair shuddering slightly due to the vibration of the car's engine. "Yes, that is true, sir."

Vincent sighed, his job was not getting easier it seemed like. "So, why didn't you just return to whoever made you? You would obviously pass as a normal girl…" while asking this, he was navigating through the streets of Paris in the rented car. He'll need to be at the airport before midnight, and the damn traffic's not on his side.

"It's not that easy, sir." FNC muttered quietly, a little bit downcast. "We were not… 'activated' yet when the attack on the facility happened. My… database, memories inputted into me through data, only showed me details of what happened. This meant that before the base got completely destroyed, someone from the development group managed to input data to warn us about the attack… the next thing I know, upon being activated, I was held up somewhere in a secluded room in this city."

"So is that why they brought you here?"

FNC's lips thinned away, unsure on how to answer. "I… can't really say if I'm sure, but I believe that our kidnappers planned to sell us off to rich people just like the one in the mansion we were in before." She then made a hollow and hopeless smile, one that Vincent managed to see from the rear view mirror. "I am a gun, after all."

Vincent didn't say anything because he did not know what to say about that.

"Um… sir, if I may ask, who are you exactly?" FNC brought up the question that had been bugging her throughout the whole journey. "And why were you in the mansion killing all of those people?"

Vincent scratched the edge of his chin, while waiting for the damned car in front of his to move. "I'm a part of a secret organization that deals with countries' social welfare and security." He shrugged. "But I'd like to think of myself as a very rich janitor, with all the cleaning jobs I've been doing the past few months…" he actually grumbled.

"…cleaning?" if anything, what he did back in the mansion was more like causing a mess.

"Yeah, cleaning." He emphasized the last word greatly to a point that it's sarcastic. "I rid this world of corrupted, polluted and disease carrying filths. Some may or may not include dictators, corrupted government officials, blood thirsty militia commanders and many more. See? Just a very rich janitor…" he chuckled at his own joke.

But FNC seemed to miss the humor. "That's a dangerous job…"

"This coming from a gun is like the pot calling the kettle back, girly."

FNC pouted at being called girly. She then got quiet, seemingly to have run out of topics to talk about. But fortunately, Vincent broke the silence with a question that will keep conversation up.

"So, FNC… it's damn weird to call a girl in letters, can I call you Funco?"

"Y-Yes?!" FNC, or Funco, squealed. "F-F-Funco?! That's a bit… that's… er…"

"Now I know I'm not good at giving names, alright?" Vincent rolled his eyes. "But we might need a cover story when we reach the airport. So I'll need to give you a name before anyone gets suspicious, yeah?"

"O-Oh…" FNC seemed calmer now that she knew the reason as to why he's calling her Funco. "T-Then, I guess it's fine."

"Alright, Funco, pretty nice name I have to say. It rolls off the tongue pretty nicely, yeah? Anyway, what I wanted to ask is this; are there any other gun girls out there or do they only… eh… made the FN family?"

Funco shook her head. "No, there are a lot of types of gun girls out there, so not only from the FN series. There are other types of guns as well. Battle rifles, assault rifles like me, shotguns, sniper rifles, submachine guns and handguns… and I might have not met any other gun girls, but I get the feeling that I'm familiar with some of them."

Vincent's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, wondering. "You feel like you're familiar with them but you never even met them… how's that work?"

Funco made an effort to think. "It's not something that I can explain clearly, sir. But try to imagine knowing someone's name, their hobbies, antics and behavior without ever even meeting them. I guess that's the closest example I could come up with."

"Ah, I see. Then who are they?"

"M16 – Sixteen, L85-A1 – Elle, SG-550 – Sig… and several more, but those three are more familiar to me." Funco said, a faraway expression fixed on her face as she gazed outside of the car's window and towards the darkening skies of Paris. "And my sister too… FN-FAL… Big sister FAL…"

"Ah… so you have a big sister…" Vincent muttered. "So, technically speaking, the P-90 I have with me in here" he patted the cello case he had on the front passenger seat. "is your little sister, yeah?"

Funco giggled, finding the idea amusing, now that she thought about it. "I guess so, sir."

"Ah, eh, don't call me sir. It's… weird, y'know?" Vincent informed awkwardly. "Just call me Vincent, that's my name or just call me Vince, but not sir, please." Normally, it's him who usually refer to others as 'sir' or 'madam' because of his status as a mere agent in the Agency.

Funco got a little bit red on the face, surprised at his request. "T-Then… Vincent…"

"Good, good." Vincent nodded, happy that he managed to get that cleared with her. "Oh yeah, speaking of which, since you're a gun and a girl at the same time, how does that work anyway? I saw you turning into a gun before but… I just can't imagine anything past that."

"I am able to summon my gun self into battle with me. Here, let me show you." with a flash of her hands, a pristine looking FN-FNC appeared, held in between Funco's grip. The assault rifle's skeleton stock is pressed firmly to its human-self's shoulder. "Since I'm literally using myself as a weapon, maximum efficiency is to be expected, I'm quite proud of my accuracy, in fact!" she made a smug face.

"Hm…" no matter how normal Funco made it sound like, the whole idea was still confusing to Vincent. "I guess I'll need a while to get used to all of this." he turned the steering wheel, entering the highway. "Oh and keep the gu-er... _your_ gun-self away now, we don't want trouble with the airport security later." Even if the plane he's going board is the Agency's exclusive jet, he would still need to get past airport security.

* * *

When thinking about secret government organizations, the FBI, CIA and Secret Service came to mind. They're supposed to be a secret organization, yet their names were known throughout the entire world. Believe it or not, this was intended. There's a common practice done by government and that's to give out little information to prevent full suspicion on the subject. The logic worked weirdly, but it worked. By sharing just a little bit about a certain topic, let's say the existence of an intelligence agency, it'll prevent people from completely looking for it in the first place because they assumed that it's just another branch of government organization. Misinformation, deception and little white lies have always been at play.

Those three last things were just some of the few things that keep countries safe.

Just like the organizations mentioned above, the Agency was not completely submerged. Just like a submarine, it'll need to surface from time to time for it to work. Even though the Agency's still more secretive than the organizations mentioned before, its existence wasn't completely unknown. Only few people in the world knew about the Agency, and even fewer knew what it's about. Intelligence about the Agency were well kept, maybe even better than the files they keep at the pentagon over in Langley. The Agency's official main headquarter was unknown, but only few people knew about it outside of the Agency itself.

For Vincent, since he'd been in the job for almost seven years now, the way the Agency tried so hard to maintain its secrecy was something he could never understand. Sure, secret organizations were needed to remain secret, but just how far exactly? It's true that the jobs they do were dirty, but couldn't cover-ups… well… cover that part up? He knew that organizations like the CIA have done some dirty work of their own in the past days, maybe even now, but they did a good job in covering it up, so why can't the Agency? Was it about the agents that worked here, about how they were genetically engineered with futuristic biotechnological equipment? Maybe.

See? This was why he'd rather be a normal field operative rather than a manager like his superior, J… he thought his job was hard, he wouldn't even imagine what J had to deal with in the dailies…

Right now, they're in Miami Florida. When their plane touched down at the airport, some guys from the Agency arrived to pick them up. Now, they're in a black sedan with two other Agency agents. One's driving and the other one's sitting shotgun. Vincent sat on the back with Funco, his case was in the trunk otherwise it'll take up a lot of space if it's inside with him. Eyeing the girl secretly, Vincent could tell that she was nervous and he couldn't blame her for it. She's in a locked car with three men, two of which she didn't know at all, and completely vulnerable. Vincent guessed that though she was a gun girl, she knew that she's still helpless when surrounded.

The trip had been completely immersed in silence with none of them having opened their mouths the moment they entered the car, much less talk to strike up conversation. The two agents that were in front were agent 0152 and 0583, the latter was the driver. He knew nothing of them, and didn't plan on knowing them unless they're in a mission. Believe it or not, it's rare for agents to be partnered up with one another. The main point in genetically engineering an agent was so that missions could be accomplished by a single effective operator only. Usually, agents were partnered up for large scale operations like wiping another group clean or cleaning a very large number of hostiles. Even so, the latter could be done effectively even by a single agent.

They're heading to the place where J was expecting him and since he's the agent deployed to kill Pierre and secure Funco, she's somewhat in charge of the situation now, meaning that she's calling the shots temporarily. Still, there's no telling just how big this whole situation can get. After a thirty minute trip of total silence in a tense atmosphere, the car finally stopped. The two agents in front opened their doors first, then Vincent opened his with Funco exiting through the same door as he did.

"We have arrived, agent 0564." Agent 0512 informed in a straight voice that's almost similar to how the rest of agents, excluding him, speak like. "Miss Jennifer is waiting for you inside the hotel at room 602, we have briefed the receptionist and have other agents patrolling the area for security."

"Security?" Vincent wondered. "How long will I be here anyway?"

"That is unknown, agent." This time, it's agent 0583's turn to speak. "But your presence is required urgently, we advise you to meet Miss Jennifer now."

Shrugging his shoulders, Vincent nodded reluctantly. "Alright, come on Funco, let's meet my boss."

Funco, unsure of what to say, merely followed after him inside the hotel.

The hotel, just like the agents who were with him have mentioned, were already secured by the Agency. He could tell who's an agent and who's not and right now, the agent to civilian ratio's totally unbalanced. He approached the receptionist on the desk, who happened to be a male who looked no older than him.

"Excuse me, I'm expected at room 602?" Vincent spoke to the male receptionist.

The receptionist nodded in a business-like manner, before speaking politely. "Ah yes, a reservation for two." He checked the list on his monitor's screen before speaking again. "Please go on ahead, sir." The man bowed his head in a service like manner.

"Thank you." Vincent muttered before walking off to the elevator. He pressed the button to hail for a lift, and the loud 'ding!' noise was followed by the opening of the lift's door. He entered the spacey elevator, Funco following in suit. He pressed the number '6' on the elevator's button pads, figuring that his designated room's probably on that floor.

Vincent closed his eyes, thinking that the only sound he'll hear throughout the way up was the soft jazz elevator music. But he was wrong.

"Um, Vincent, who are we meeting?" Funco asked nervously as she began to grip the hem of her green skirt. She stared at Vincent with curious eyes, and he could see the anxiety in them.

"My handler, just as I've said. I'll also need to be debriefed from my mission…" he trailed off before continuing. "But I have my own questions to ask, so we might be in there for quite some time."

"I see… then after that, what will happen to me?"

Vincent frowned as he gave Funco an honestly confused shake of his head. "I don't know Funco, I don't know. I told you already, right? I know nothing about your existence, I don't even know why I'm bringing you back to the Agency. What I **do** know is that the top brass's keeping some things from me, and I don't like that…"

At the same time, the elevator's door slid open, revealing a narrow hallway. Both Vincent Funco stepped outside of the lift, making their way through the carpeted hall. Vincent searched for a room 602 and when he found it, he gently knocked three times on the door. He did not wait for a response as he softly twist open the door knob, pushing the door in and making his way inside.

"About time you arrive, mister lazyass."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, J. Still as joyful as ever, I see." Sarcasm was intended.

Before Funco was probably one of the most if not the most beautiful woman she's ever seen ever since her activation. The woman who Vincent called J was a complete beauty. She got all the right points and on the right places too. The inner girl in Funco found itself envying the woman for being such a beauty.

Jennifer Chase was one woman every man would want to get to know with and get their hands on. There's no denying or refusing this blonde bombshell. Her figure, seemingly hugged by the tight business attire she's wearing was the very definition of temptation itself. Her long and somewhat curly ashen blonde hair made her look like a supermodel when combined with the dynamite body she possessed. Her face was soft yet her cheekbones were clearly defined. She had a small beauty mark just underneath her right eye, nearing her cheekbones. Her lips were a luscious pair of scarlet, and the sight of her unbuttoned first two buttons was heaven itself. She wore an expensive woman's Rolex on her right sleeve, as well as a pair of business heels. Her sharp, yet somewhat seductive blue eyes were keeping their sight focused on the equally well dressed male in the room before paying attention to the girl behind said man.

"So they weren't kidding when they said that they're girls…" Jennifer, or J, sighed. "…what were they thinking hiding this kind of information from me? From all of us?" it appeared as if she's talking to herself, something she's clearly doing at the moment.

"J, I assume you know who or what she is?" Vincent asked, gesturing the Funco who fidgeted a little at being gestured.

"I do." She muttered with a pained expression. "Christ, Vince, my headache's killin' me…" she took a moment to massage her forehead, before giving the man a look. "I take it that you know too?"

"I had her explain what she knows to me." Vincent said, dusting his shoulder with a gloved hand. "But I get the feeling that you know more… right?"

Jennifer made an expression that's hard to describe. But it's a mixture between confirmation, rejection and confusion. "IIIII… maybe." She blurted out. "Maybe, just… take a seat." She then looked at the girl. "You too, please."

So both Vincent and FNC sat down on the bed while Jennifer took the sofa across.

"FN-FNC, the girl, she's not exactly human, she's a robot or whatever and the people who made her were wiped out, leaving any glimmer of hope we have of finding out more about this thing flushed down the drain." Jennifer went through the bits lazily, a bad habit of hers that Vincent never liked. "She's not the only gir-excuse me… _gun girl_. Yes, gun girl to be… er… _produced_ by her creators. The people who built her created a lot of gun girls and right now, due to the attack, they're scattered all around the world having ended up who knows where and with who knows who." She swallowed. "That's what we both know."

Vincent finally opened his eyes, as he'd been listening with them closed throughout all this time.

"And here's what the brass knows:" Jennifer took a deep breath. "America, as well as several other nations out there, requested the construction of these gun girls. The organization that built them, the Gunsmiths, were almost done in producing all of them until one of their facilities got attacked by god knows who and resulted in all the gun girls being separated and lost to every part of the world. The top brass had the order of gathering the rest of the gun girls and finding them to be contained and secured as to not fall to the wrong hands, but we all know that this's just their way saying that we need to get them all first before the rest does. The gun girls themselves are not human, so they're completely cybernetics, capable of transforming into guns like the Transformers to cars, completely combat effective since they can… fight using themselves as guns and are extremely dangerous if used wrongly…"

Silence.

"…that's it?"

"That's it."

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose, making wrinkles appear. "…talk about secrecy man… this's just ridiculous." He sent Jennifer a dreading look. "And don't tell me that we're in charge of this?"

"…fortunately, we're not the only one who'll eventually go out there to search for the rest of these girls." Jennifer's answer made him sigh in relief. "But we'll be the first guys they send when they find a lead on the girls."

Vincent groaned loudly, digging his face even deeper to his palms. After a while, he lifted his head up again, directing his look to Funco who had been silent throughout all this time. "What do you have to say about this, Funco?"

The silvery lavender haired girl gave him a conflicted look. "I… I don't know." She said uneasily, rubbing her arms as a sign of insecurity. "What… Miss Jennifer said was correct but even I can't really confirm all of it because my memory have somewhat been altered prior to my activation."

"What do you mean?" Jennifer asked.

"I attempted to re-scan my memory device on the way here, but I wasn't able to recover anything useful. I get the feeling that after someone installed the information regarding the attack on the facility where I was supposed to be activated at, he or she also altered my main memory files that's supposed to contain all information regarding the people who built me!" Funco explained worriedly. "I can't… I can't find anything aside from the things I've told you, Vincent."

Vincent sighed louder. "And that's what we're gonna hear eventually, can it get even better?" he then spoke again. "Funco, I don't know anything but I can probably predict that whoever altered your memory files did that because he or she's not willing to take the risk of the attacker finding out more about you girls or the organization that built you, so he or she probably erased the data or somethin'. I know that's what I'll do if I was in that kind of position."

Jennifer nodded in what seemed to be agreement. "But still, that only means that things are going to be tougher on our end especially if we're supposed to find an unknown amount of gun girls who're probably scattered all across the continents by now."

Vincent scoffed openly, glaring at the carpeted floor of the room. "Since when were things weren't tough?"

Jennifer shook her head, proceeding on with the conversation. "Regardless, Funco, is that your name?"

"U-Uh… Vincent gave me that name…"

Jennifer sent the man a questioning look.

"What?" Vincent raised his hands halfway. "I'm not going to call someone in fucking letters; that sounds weird as hell."

"In any case… Funco, we will have to secure you in the Agency." Jennifer said with a firm edge in her tone. "We won't do anything to you yet, because this whole matter's just been recently brought to everyone's attention. But I can guarantee that you'll be safe with us, after all, you've seen how that guy worked, right?" Jennifer then giggled. "He's not called the Merciless Vince for nothing."

"What a lameass title." Vincent scoffs while rolling his eyes at the same time.

"It's perfect for a lameass like you."

"Gah… low blow J, low blow…"

* * *

Afterwards, Jennifer managed to clear things up with the big brass in the Agency. Later, she had put Vincent in charge of Funco while she had to return back to headquarters. The original plan was to have them return to one of the AOA branch in Miami, but they decided to take a short break at a restaurant somewhere in the area while discussing about topics related to the gun girls. They're in a restaurant called Four Girls Burger and Fries somewhere near the Miami Beach area. Funco and Vincent sat opposite to each other on one of the tables in the restaurant, waiting for their orders to arrive.

"Are you sure that you can… y'know… eat?" Vincent asked in a hushed manner to Funco.

"Yes, I can." Funco replied casually. "Even if I am not human, I will still need sustenance from food and other consumables in order to have energy. I also… need food for shooting, since it's how ammunitions are created for gun girls."

"Wait a minute." Vincent's tone lost its subtlety. "You eat food to get ammo? How does _that_ work?"

"My body can convert organic materials like food into ammunitions." She hid her hand under the table's cover, before pulling it back out to reveal a full magazine containing 5.56 rounds. "But, only the gun girls themselves are capable of using their created ammunitions. So it won't work if you reload this into another FN-FNC."

"I… see." Vincent's tone was dead and flat. In all honesty, he's still confused. He then spoke in a hurried manner, almost worried. "And can you please put that away? I don't want people suspecting us of doin' anything suspicious in this crowd…"

"O-Oh, sorry!" Funco apologized at her mistake, before making the magazine disappear under the table again. "Um… Vincent, can I ask you something?"

With his hand perched on the table, and his chin resting on the palm of said hand, Vincent uttered a low hum. "Sure. Fire away." pun not intended.

"Are you really going to find the rest of the gun girls?" Funco asked.

"It's gonna be my mission, so of course I'm going to." Vincent answered with his obnoxious tone. "It's troublesome, yeah, but what can I say? A job is a job and there's nothing I can do about that." He then shifted his position, leaning his back on the wooden chair. "It'll be tough for sure, because we don't know where the rest of your friends are. They might already be found by other country's federal organization, for all we know…"

"Then if that happens, what will you do?"

"What do you mean what will I do?"

"Will you take them back or let them have the other girls, even if they were the ones who requested their construction?"

Vincent shrugged his shoulders casually, patting the cello case he left resting against the table beside him. "Depends on orders. If the upper brass wants me to get them anyway, I'll take your friends. But if they don't wanna, then there's nothing I can do but follow orders. However, knowing humans and their greedy nature, I'm probably gonna get the order of bringing your friends in with us. We are going to find the gun girls, after all. But if we ever encounter, let's say, a gun girl that's already affiliated with another country they were requested from, then I guess I'll ask whether or not she wanted to join."

"Asking someone whether or not she'd like to be kidnapped is something new…" Funco said awkwardly.

Vincent raised his hands. "Though it's not technically kidnapping, then what do you suppose I should do? Knock her out and bring her in anyway? Hey, at least I have the decency to ask."

"Hm…" Funco made an effort to think and concentrate. "If… if that girl's already affiliated with a country, then it would be nearly impossible to try and convince her to come with us…" Funco muttered out knowingly. "But if they're lost and confused, then please try to convince them to come with you, Vincent. Especially if they're my friends! Or my sister. Or my sister's friends for that matter!"

Vincent, not knowing what to say directly, merely shrugged. "I won't say anything, but I'll promise to try my best. But you better hope that the top brass will play the greed card and would want to get every single gun girls out there."

Funco nodded, understanding what he meant. "I'm sorry if I sound like I'm asking you for a lot, Vincent." When she began to hiccup, Vincent frowned. "It's just that I-I don't want anything bad to happen to my friends or the rest of the girls who I have yet met." Small, thin tear lines began to flow out from her eyes.

Vincent watched her tear up, with his frown becoming deeper. "Even weapons cry, huh…?" sighing, Vincent reached over to Funco, planting his gloved palm on top of the girl's silvery lavender hair.

"…S-Sorry… guns aren't meant to cry, right?" despite being in her tear-welling state, Funco managed to make a small teary smile.

"You can cry as much as you want, kid. For all I care about, you're just another girl down the block." He patted her head, akin to what he would normally do to a dog. "Just make sure not to cry too much. I don't know about you gun girls but for humans, tears are actually blood without the plasma component present in it, so it's not exactly healthy…" then he retracted his hand from her head.

"R-Really?"

"The blood thing? Nah, I dunno, I heard it once in this anime I watched and I thought that saying that would make me sound cool."

Funco giggled upon hearing his reason, wiping her eyes clear of tears. "No… but… do you really see me as a human and not a weapon?"

The agent nodded, using a finger to scratch his chin. "Yeah, of course."

Hearing his answer made Funco smiled. "Thank you… you don't know how much that means to me."

Not long later, their orders arrived. Vincent ordered a bowl of salad and a cheeseburger. He recommended the same order to Funco, minus the salad. As they dug into their lung, Vincent's cell rang, prompting him to stop eating. He reached into his blazer's inner pocket to retrieve the phone, picking up the call.

"Vincent. Speak." He swallowed his food down before speaking.

" _Vince, it's me, J. I got good news and bad news, V, and I'm pretty sure that you'll hate what you're about to hear."_ J, Jennifer, spoke from the other end of the line with a grim finish.

"The good news too?"

" _Yup, the good news too."_

Cursing under his breath, Vincent then spoke again. "Okay, lay it on me."

" _I just confirmed things with the upper brass, and they confirmed our mission of finding the girls. The bad news is, we won't have anyone to help us until further notice. And by further notice, I mean waaaay later."_ From her end, Jennifer could hear Vincent cursing already. _"The good news is, we're allowed to use almost any asset that the Agency could offer and I'm in charge of the operation, but that means we'll have our pay docked by five percent. It's a long term operation, so the brass had several people working on it already to speed things up from their end."_

"When do you think we're ready to move?"

" _My, are you actually looking forward to it?"_

"No, I'm just asking."

" _Anytime this week, we can't make a move especially when we haven't got a clue as to where the gun girls are scattered."_ J told him through the phone. _"But for now, just relax. Take Funco out for sightseeing or something, I don't know, go on a date with her or whatever."_

"Holy fuck J, she's barely a teenager!"

" _Chill the fuck down, dum-dum, it's not like I asked you to bang her or anything. Even if you did, that's your own fault."_

Vincent face palmed hard. "Just get back to work or whatever, I don't wanna hear your voice."

" _Bye, bye Vince. And treat the little lady we-"_ he hung up.

"I'm really not in the mood for this…" Vincent grumbled while pocketing the phone back. Having taken off his gloves to eat, he wiped his hands with a moist towelette that was served to him by the waiter. "Sheesh… hm? Funco, you okay there?"

"I-I'm fine!" The gun girl responded, holding the burger close to her mouth. She had a hard time holding it properly, much less eating it due the burger being twice the size of her own mouth. "I just need to… try.. hawdewh…" her speech became unclear because she's trying to speak while trying to fit a bite into her mouth at the same time.

Sighing, Vincent dropped his used moist towelette in order to help the girl. "Forget being a janitor, I might as well be a babysitter now…" he muttered that under his breath, keeping his opinion to himself. "Here, hand that to me." He grabbed the burger before placing it back on the plate it came with. He began disassembling the burger, separating the buns from the patty and leaving the vegetables to the side to act as salad to the meal.

"There, now you can eat. Grab a fork and knife." He then moved on to his own meal, putting ketchup on the patty of his own burger. "Cheers."

* * *

"Where are we going now, Vincent?" in the middle of their quiet trip, Funco asked Vincent a question.

Stopping his whistling of his favorite song's tune, Vincent wet his drying lips to answer the girl who's seated on the backseat. "To a place where we'll be staying."

"…we?" Funco was still confused. "Why are we staying there? Where are we staying?"

"Obviously, I don't live in Miami. I own a house Seattle, but since we're not there, we're going to need a place to stay while we're here. Chances are, we'll be staying in Miami for a while until we're required to move somewhere else for our operation." Vincent answered. "And as to where we're staying, I don't know, but the address I got was a house address somewhere in a residential area in Miami."

" _Our_ … does that mean that I'll be tagging along with you to find my friends?" Funco quickly asked.

"Don't get too hopeful yet, kid. I still don't know how things're gonna get from here on out." Vincent said, causing Funco to feel disappointed. "That's up to the higher ups to decide whether or not you'll be joining me in missions, but won't be surprised if they let you join me in missions."

"Why's that?" Funco wondered.

"Well, first, you're a gun girl. We're going to need you and everything you know regarding the rest of the gun girls out there, regardless of how little it is. Second, they wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of providing a place for us to stay if they're so worried about letting you out of our sight; they would've ordered me to brought you into one of our operations building or something on complete containment." Vincent answered her honestly. He might be wrong, but there's nothing wrong in assuming.

"That second part is not so reassuring." Funco muttered dryly when she heard of the possibility of being locked up somewhere in a secret agency's building.

"Believe me, I know."

Funco didn't ask, and she kept to herself for the duration of the trip.

Funco couldn't believe it. The first thing that happened to her was being locked up in a dark and empty room, probably going to be sold off to someone. Then, she's kidnapped to this large mansion, where she was tied and bound with no chance of escaping. Finally, she met this secret agent who goes by the name of Vincent and said agent rescued her after killing everyone in the mansion. Now, she's going to be staying with him in the same house. She knew that she's in no place to speak about how she's treated, but at least Vincent's not like those men who captured her. She may not understand French, but she's sure that those guys were saying some pretty nasty stuff about her.

Not to mention, Vincent's going to go out there and find the rest of the gun girls and her friends, even if it's only out of his obligation and duty as an agent who rescued her, she still felt very thankful to him. She could only wonder what her life's going to be from here on out. She had no other purpose aside from being used by the country that requested her construction, and that purpose was now invalid due to the destruction of the organization that made her. No… she couldn't be too sure just yet. Whoever inputted the information regarding the facility's destruction did not write anything else aside from that. So, there's still hope to find her creators. She just hoped that whatever things that may transpire in the future, she will be united with her friends and sister.

So the journey continued, soaked in silence.

"Funco, we're here."

Having fallen asleep in the car, Funco was awoken by Vincent's voice. Bringing herself to consciousness with a little bit of drowsiness in her system, Funco rubbed her eyes as she focused them for vision. She exited the car, noticing that it's been parked somewhere in a small garage. Due to the lights being turned off, Funco couldn't really see what the garage really looked like. She was then lead into the actual part of the house by the suited agent, and once inside, the lights were turned on by a flick of a switch.

"We'll be staying here, make yourself comfortable."

Funco wandered into the house, while Vincent's off to the living room to set his cello case down.

The house was your typical two storied house with a garage, front yard, back yard and a basement underneath. It's not too big and not too small, the kind of house that stuck out as nothing more than a piece of background accessories. It's painted in a fresh light green color, with the windows dusty due to the low maintenance done to it. The smell of oak wood can be smelled throughout the house, this was because the wooden appliances inside the house were made from this type of wood. The stairs that lead upstairs were not that tall and the upper floor's just about as comfy as the floor down below. This house had three bedrooms. One was the master bedroom, another one's the guest bedroom and the final one's a lightly furnished room with a single bed. If a family were to occupy this house, then that last room would be some kid's room.

Vincent, after setting down his cello case on the couch, slumped down on the sofa just next to the sofa. His fatigue was beginning to get to him, causing him to become tired and sleepy. He don't normally move much when on an assignment, since he preferred finishing his targets off from a long range using the Desert Tactical SRS sniper rifle he owned. But that mission in Palermo and France? He needed a closer approach on those, and it's starting to make drawback against him. He's not a 'rush in guns blazing' type of person; he's more like Sam Fisher instead of Alex Mason. Shifting, he then proceeded to take off his blazer, revealing the brown leather chest holster strapped to his body as well as the dual Colt M1911 holstered in place.

He sat there on his lonesome, hunched over with his head drooped almost touching his knees. His hair was a mess, even with all the grease put in an effort of keeping it in place, his eyes were getting sleepy. But he knew that he can't sleep yet, not yet. After a few minutes, Vincent noticed that his companion was not nearby. Standing up, he called after her.

"Funco, where are you?" he called out, his voice echoing throughout the house.

Fortunately for him, he heard a reply as soon as he called out to her. "Upstairs in the small room!"

Vincent nodded to himself, before moving upstairs. Climbing up the stairs and onto the second floor, he then walked into the room where Funco was in.

"Plan on sleeping here and making this room yours?"

"It's small, but cozy." Funco admitted, looking around. She then frowned. "But… it's rather plain." She made her opinion known as she observed the minimally decorated room.

"Then you should've seen the dorms in the headquarters…" Vince snorted with slight amusement. "But, yeah, it is pretty plain. Why don't you grab the bigger rooms?"

"N-No, I couldn't!" Funco immediately rejected openly. "You should have the bigger room, Vincent."

"Nah." Vincent waved her reasoning off. "I actually prefer smaller and cozier rooms like this one, see?" he patted the paper covered wall of the room. "Even though I have less space, I can have everything within an arm's reach and the smaller the room, the lesser the effort in cleaning it." He snickered

"I see… but I'll take this room anyway!" Funco declared boldly, her decision unchanged. "You go have the bigger room."

"Sheesh… yes _mom_."

They both laughed at the joke.

"So," Funco spoke out awkwardly after the silence that followed. "What will we do now?"

"Nothing." Vincent answered without hesitation. "We'll stay here until J or anyone from the Agency calls us for a job… or just me to be more specific. If you're bored, we can always go around town for a walk or something, I'm bound to get bored anyway."

Funco relaxed when she heard that they won't be doing anything, but at the same time, she couldn't help but wander. "Eh… so the place you work for gives their employees so much free time?"

"Well, most of the time, so yes." Vincent replied to answer Funco. "Since our job requires us travelling around the world, we're bound to have a little free time unless things're urgent. Right now though, we ain't got anything to do because we have literally zero leads about where the rest of your friends are at."

At the mention of her scattered friends, Funco got a little sorrowful.

"Now don't be gloomy, kid." Vincent reached out to pat her on the head two times, before retracting his hand again. "We'll find your friends and sister, I'm sure of it."

His words brought whatever uneasy feeling in Funco disappeared, almost as if she's cheerful again. "Um! I'll try my best to persevere."

"Good." The agent smiled, showing her one of his rare smiles. "You gotta have a little bit of both. Being too sad will make you glum, and being too cheerful will make you dumb. Hey, that rhymes!"

The gun girl giggled as she observed the agent's antics. She couldn't believe that he was the same person as the one who killed all of those men in the mansion in Paris.

Later, Vincent excused himself outside of the room – he gave up on convincing her to take the bigger room, seemed like girls are all so hard to talk to, no matter human or not. He walked to his room which was in the far corner of the second floor, the master bed room. It's not that far from Funco's room, but it's nearer to the bathroom. He entered the room and closed the door behind him before taking off his tie, belt and shoes; placing them neatly inside a closet which was available in the room. He then crawled up to the king sized bed, after having closed the blinds on the windows. He positioned himself in the middle of the bed, not so close on the edges. He, lying there, then shut his eyes, sleeping.

* * *

Her job as an acting manager is never easy.

Unlike a normal field operative, her job did not involve any dirty work or getting her hands dirty with dictator blood. Instead, she's in charge of what's happening under the table. Innuendos aside, her job had always been more than just hiding the Agency's cloak and daggers from prying eyes… if there was ever a need for that in the first place. Where field operatives find themselves risking their life for the success of the mission, her job risked the entire organization as a whole. If she messed up, then there's no more Agency to do America's dirty work.

If there's one particular thing that's hard about her job… it'll be keeping sniffing nose and prying eyes away from the door. It's always been a matter of life or death when it comes to keeping the Agency's existence a secret. The last time someone out of a government group got a hint of their existence, it resulted in said person being stuffed in a body bag before being shipped somewhere to the North Pole… in pieces. Yes, they really needed to go that far in order to keep secrecy.

Aside from keeping the Agency's existence as invisible as possible, her job involved a certain enigmatic agent that went by the identification code 0564. Vincent… she remembered the day he first worked here like it was just yesterday. No, she won't reminisce the past into detail, but the short version was this: she never knew that someone could kill as well, as quick and as efficient as Vincent did. She's no expert in the arts of killing, nor will she ever try to dip herself into that field of expertise, but she couldn't hide the fascination she felt when she saw Vincent kill for the first time.

It was their very first assignment and, unfortunately, the assignment required her to go out to the field to meet their contact in person. Vincent, being new in the job, was still unfamiliar with the way things work between a manager—her and an agent—him. He was acting under the cover of being her bodyguard and he definitely looked the part. Long story short, things went from edgy to tense when the conversation went on and at one point, one of her contact's personal guards – there were five of them at that time – pointed a gun at her. Apparently, they made a mistake of prioritizing her as the main threat when they should've in fact focused on Vincent. That gun, a Glock 17 if she was not mistaken, did not even last a second on her face because Vincent already reacted and handled the situation in his own brutal way. Her safety was top priority, she knew. But she never knew that Vincent took it seriously. It was very quick, happened in no more than five seconds.

She remembered a pained scream and then four consecutive gunshots as well as four simultaneously sound of bodies dropping to the hard, cold ground. After that was the sound of bones breaking and then, the next thing she knew, her backstabbing contact was already unconscious and put at the trunk of her car, gagged and tied. Throughout the rest of the journey back to HQ, she remembered Vincent – who was also driving – lacking in any sort of visible emotion. If there's one expression he did make that day, it was boredom. Pure, unrivalled boredom.

Admittedly, she was quite new to the job as well, so she was a little bit shaken up after witnessing something so brutal happening in less than five seconds. What's weird was the fact how scared she was when not even a hint of remorse was shown on Vincent's face after he had just killed five guards in, let's not sugarcoat things, in cold blood so heartlessly. Sure, handling the feeling of murder may have been a part of his orientation before being accepted to the company, but… for someone so young to be doing something like that… it bugged her. Most of the field operatives who worked in the Agency came from different military backgrounds, but she did a thorough background check about Vincent and she did not find a hint of any military backgrounds, not even volunteer training service.

Right now, as she's filing another report that needed to be delivered to the central office, she could only doze off while her hands were busy stuffing papers into folders. Her office was as quiet as ever, without anyone around. Usually, Vincent would drop by and they'd share a beer, but he's away now, in charge of that girl…

Speaking of which, just how's it possible to create a gun girl anyway?

Currently, the Agency's doing their all to even get a single trace of anything related to the Gunsmiths and the gun girls in general. The Gunsmiths were not that easy to find, but even so, it took the Agency a lot of work over the past twenty four hour to even get a hint of what the organization's all about. Basically, the Gunsmiths were a group of international biotechnological scientists, engineers and doctors who make weapons. They made weapons ranging from high end prototype weaponry, military EMP devices and even orbital ballistic cannons. Why the Agency had never heard of that kind of organization? She never knew. But, that could only mean one thing. The Gunsmiths, whoever they were or are, were good at hiding and keeping themselves under the radar. Maybe as good as them. Their latest inventions must've been the gun girls and if one of their objectives' to make them look as human as they could, then she had to say they did a great job.

When Vincent arrived with Funco at that hotel earlier today, she couldn't differentiate her from a normal pubescent teenager. Sure, there were some defining features that highlighted her humanity, but ignore that and you won't even know that she's actually a cyborg or whatever. It took her a while to accept the fact, but she took it… with a help of lots and lots of caffeine.

Regardless of status, Funco's existence must be a secret. Though there should already be some people who're aware of the gun girls' existence, the Agency must prevent other rival organizations from finding out of these girls' existence. Right now, in America, the Agency's the only one who knew about their existence, and they intend to keep it that way.

Jennifer, who was a bit worn out after hours of office work, pressed the intercom on her desk. "Mary, I'll be out for the day, please put anything that comes into my office on standby." She waited for no reply from the person on the other side, as she immediately ups and leave.

She walked out from the office and to the hallway, where there were also many business suited men and women walking with their own work to do. Right now everyone's busy, almost eighty percent of the people who work here were currently ordered to prioritize on helping finding out whatever they could regarding this whole 'gun girl' matter. As she walked, she dialed a number from her phone, bringing it up to her ear. She was left hanging for a couple of second, before an irritated voice bled through the line.

" _What do you want? I was sleeping goddamit…"_

"Stop slacking around you broccoli, you got a job to do." From her end, she could hear Vincent getting up from his bed. "It's important, so don't screw it up."

" _When's it never been important… anyway, what it's about?"_

"We managed to get a little bit of something from doing restless research."

" _Whoa, that quick? Damn."_

"You won't believe how tired the guys in the intelligence department are right now… in any case, I'll send you mission details via mail, so take a shower or prepare yourself or something."

" _Yeah, what about Funco?"_

"She'll be go thing with you. Now before you ask, the higher ups thought this would be a good chance to see what she could do. I'll be sending you a recording device to record the whole mission and her performance."

" _I see… so does that mean I don't have to bring my guns?"_

Jennifer blinked. "Huh, why?"

" _You dunno? She can become a gun, shit, I thought you knew?"_

"Oh… yeah." Jennifer muttered in realization, her voice becoming small at her mistake of forgetting something important. "Regardless, just make sure not to screw this up, yeah?"

" _Yeah, yeah…"_

Jennifer was about to speak some more, but the line was already cut. Sighing, she then pocketed her phone back. "I swear… he's such an ass."

Their relationship was that of a manager and her agent, but sometimes, she couldn't help but think of him as that one hopeless little brother who always got himself into trouble… sometimes maybe her too. Regardless, she'll give Vincent time to prepare, he'll need it.

Because this next job was far from easy.

* * *

 **A/N: Seeing as this story is not on demand, much less popular to start with, I'm afraid that I won't be posting anymore of this story until I receive enough recognition for it. Though I do know that some of you who stumbled upon this may want to read more of it, I'm just sorry to say that you won't be seeing any more of this anytime soon.**

 **Or at all for that matter.**

 **This is a new idea, see, and according to my knowledge no one has written an Upotte! story in this manner of plot or writing. However, if you really want to see more of it, please review. That is the only way, aside from giving favorites or follows, for me to know that there are still people who wants to read this story.**


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